


Shift

by Jameva



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 10:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20964989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameva/pseuds/Jameva
Summary: Five times Felix watches Sylvain die, and one time he doesn't.(It's really not as angsty as it sounds.)





	Shift

The first time it happens, Felix dismisses it as combat exhaustion. 

They’re fighting through a thicket, avoiding a hollow between two hills where they would have been neatly skewered by archers on either hilltops. It’s nonetheless a wretched place to fight in. Their movements are slow and the range of their weapons is severely reduced. It does provide them with cover, the only mercy aside from not dying from an ambush in unfavourable terrain. 

Felix is staying close to Mercedes. His sword intercedes frequently to deflect attacks, though he does not succeed for all. The bandits do not see them well, but neither do they. The attacks are often a surprise. Her skirt is dotted in red and his ribs feel broken, but neither falter. Mercedes has little magic left and cannot afford to heal what is not potentially fatal.

Some distance to his left, a shock of red is advancing slowly, axe held ready. Felix has no attention to spare for Sylvain; his focus is becoming hard to maintain. They have been routing these bandits for a long time, now. His sword arm is numb and still moves only because it knows how to fight better when Felix does not consciously try to command his limb.

No one sees the archer, this time. The sun is setting and everything is growing dark. There is a quick flash of steel, the sound of a bowstring slapping against leather, and then Sylvain gurgles. 

The soft sound claps into Felix’s ears as if thunder had crashed by his feet. 

“Sylvain!”

Felix heedlessly runs to him, to where he had been a moment ago. He cannot see him anymore. Sylvain has fallen to the ground, hidden by underbrush. Distantly he hears Mercedes following. 

When he reaches Sylvain, he freezes.

The arrow took him in the throat. He is already dead.

Felix drops his sword. His world goes black and grey and his ears ring as if he stood in the bell tower of the monastery at high noon.

“Sylvain, duck!” Byleth cries, the command in her tone sharp as a whip crack. 

She has drilled them well. Sylvain immediately flattens to the ground and an arrow streaks harmlessly above his head. Sylvain is up and charging before the archer has a chance to knock a second arrow, his axe swinging wildly, cutting through branches, a sapling and the bandit’s arm. 

Felix watches it all from the corner of his eye, focused on protecting Mercedes, the back of his mind automatically adding a mark to the tally counting the times Byleth has shown unparalleled instinct and strategy. Felix has no idea how she saw the archer from where she stood, yet he cares not enough to question. 

Sylvain is still alive.

They come back late to the monastery. They could have stopped to camp yet Byleth did not call for rest and no one requested it. They were close enough that the lure of safety, the promised warmth of bath and food, overcame their exhaustion. 

In the hallway leading to their rooms, before they separate, Felix stops Sylvain with a hand on his arm. He presses until he can feel the warmth of him through his shirt. He has a strange feeling of loss that is eased by feeling how alive Sylvain is.

Sylvain, as exhausted as everyone else, can't muster much more than a confused “Felix?”.

Felix shakes his head and bids him goodnight.

That night, he dreams of arrows shooting from the dark, never missing, but does not remember when he wakes except for feeling unsettled.

Routine resumes. There is a moment, in a lecture, where Felix catches himself staring at Sylvain’s throat. A weird feeling is niggling at the back of his head, like a not-quite echo of déjà vu. For a strange reason his mind composes an image of it being pierced by an arrow, of a shocked face and staring eyes. Felix’s chest is icy. This feels like a memory, yet it's impossible.

“Hey, man. Are you ok? I know I’m handsome and all, but you look spooked.” Sylvain has a half smile ready to turn it all into a joke at a moment’s notice, yet his tone is genuine. 

“Shut up,” Felix snaps too sharply. “You’re too careless!” The words have no meaning, even to him.

Sylvain’s smile dissolves into confusion. “What the heck did I do?”

Felix grinds his teeth shut and glares ahead. Near them, Byleth is fixing him with an unfathomable stare. It gives him the jitters. 

“Is everything alright?” she asks, her tone no more than a professor investigating a potential disturbance, yet her eyes have that weight to them that she sometimes gets when she oversees their training.

“Yes.” Felix practically bites. He doesn't understand why he's so worked up.

Beside him, Sylvain just raises his hands and shakes his head. “I guess? I have no idea.”

There is a moment too long of silence. Byleth excels at those. “Focus, then.”

Felix hates magic studies but he hates the confusion and hurt on Sylvain’s face even more. He pretends to concentrate on his work for the rest of the session.

When left to think more on it, Felix reasons that his exhausted mind had fed off his internalized fears and manufactured the whole thing.

  
  
  


The second time it happens, Felix attributes it to plain old panic.

The demonic beasts have them surrounded. Two wolf-like beasts and a bird are encircling them. Likely the only reason that they have not yet been overwhelmed is because of Ingrid. She flies with desperate agility, her pegasus darting in for quick, sharp attacks that do little damage but distract very well. It is a very uncomfortable situation to find themselves in. They could be overcome so easily.

“Now, Dimitri!” Byleth orders, and with a snarl Dimitri surely does not realise exposes the ravening beast Felix knows he is, he lunges forward, his lance hissing under a swipe and solidly impaling the beast’s chest. It's not enough, though. They know that.

Right on his heel Sylvain spurs his charger forward, using the momentum to deliver a finishing blow to the beast’s neck as it writhes, held pinned by Dimitri. 

Overhead there is a shriek. Felix looks up in time to see Ingrid fall, her pegasus’ wing broken. Dedue rushes to catch her.

But now the flying demonic beast is no longer busy. Ignoring an arrow Ashe successfully pins in its haunch, it swoops in, claws out.

Sylvain’s axe is firmly ensconced in the now-dead wolf beast. He does not manage to hop away in time and the flying beast catches him square in the chest. Its talons puncture his armour and it lifts him straight up off his horse, throwing him off to fall, broken, across the field.

Annette fires an angry stream of fire at it, but it's too late for Sylvain.

It's like Felix is wearing the wrong skin. He screams Sylvain’s name but everything is too tight and his nerves are a cascade of icy needle pinpricks. His ears are full of white noise.

Byleth sends him at the demonic beast at their rear while Dimitri and Dedue effectively form a wall of brute strength against the one in front. He must use his speed, them their sheer might, to keep them occupied while she directs Annette and Ashe at the flying beast, to bring it down before Ingrid and her pegasus tire. 

Felix has trouble breathing the entire remainder of the battle. They defeat the beasts and Sylvain sits his horse proudly, gore from head to toe, exhaustion plain in his overly white face. But he's smiling and Felix finds he can breathe again.

A full week passes and Sylvain finally finds Felix in the library. It's a rare occurrence, but he's been here more often now that Byleth’s relentlessness has proven true and he is actually progressing decently in magic.

Felix has been avoiding Sylvain and it's obvious to everyone. Ever since they came back from that battle with the beasts, every time he looks at Sylvain his mind fancies the worst possible scenarios, each fuelled by real events, each of them incredibly possible and even likely. His chest constricts and he can’t breathe, and so he avoids Sylvain.

“There you are.” Sylvain greets him agreeably but there is just a hint of uncertainty in his tone. 

“So it would seem,” he replies flatly. And there it is; the weight on his chest, like Sylvain’s warhorse had decided to sit on him, and it’s a struggle to pretend like he’s alright.

Sylvain knows him well and ignores his uninviting look to sit across from him.

“You’re really taking this seriously, aren’t you? Who would’ve thought, Felix, using magic?”

“Shut up. She’s also on your ass for it.”

The worse thing is, Felix is happy to see Sylvain. Keeping him at a distance angers him, both for the distance and for how cowardly it is. The past year has seen… developments, between them, stolen moments neither quite know what to do with except that they’re disinclined to stop. Sylvain still dates and Felix doesn’t really care because he can’t hold him to limitations he hasn’t even set for himself. Yet.

He can see the hurt behind Sylvain’s levity. His fear and doubt. The fact that Sylvain cares near knocks Felix out. His vision is greying at the edges and somewhere, a detached part of his mind is telling him something is very wrong.

“That's because I’m talented at everything,” Sylvain continues, maintaining the act like he always does, until it could break him.

Maybe it's because of the way his brain can't seem  _ to get any oxygen,  _ or perhaps it's the mood of the library, silent and empty late at night, but Felix can't seem to summon as much prickliness as he might have otherwise. 

“Don't you wonder why we're all still alive?” he finds himself saying. Bird-like shrieks echo in his head.

Sylvain has the good grace to catch his mood and not fool with it. “Not really. We train all the time and the Professor leads us well. We're in the Officers Academy. At this point if you haven’t made it, that's probably because you died.”

“That's my point. Why haven't any of us, any Blue Lions, died yet?”

Felix realises it's a bit unfair to spring this level of intensity on Sylvain without warning, but he doesn't take it back, waits for his friend, or whatever they are, to rally. He will. 

Sylvain frowns but takes Felix seriously. 

“Is that what's been bothering you? We're strong and Byleth is smart.”

“Considering all that we’ve faced, it makes no sense.”

“Maybe we’ve been really lucky,” Sylvain concedes, his voice uncertain. He still doesn’t understand what’s bothering Felix but he’s truly trying. “Myself, I’m just happy we’ve managed like we have so far. Regardless how, or why, if none of us dies it’s all that matters.”

It’s difficult because even Felix doesn’t clearly understand what’s wrong. “That’s not --”

“You sure you’re alright?” Sylvain interrupts when Felix hesitates. “You look winded.” And he is, the grey matter eating at his vision steadily, and fuck, is he going to pass out? From nothing, in the fucking  _ library? _

Sylvain leans forward and catches the back of Felix’s neck in a gesture he doesn’t try, or is allowed, particularly often. His hand is warm and heavy.

“Hey, Felix, we’re not going anywhere, alright? I promised, so it’s not like I have a choice anyway.” 

And just like that, the warhorse stands from his chest and wanders off to more inviting pastures, finally letting him  _ breathe.  _

He’s been such an idiot. He rolls his eyes, more to try and marshal his mind back to a semblance of control than for honest sentiment. “You’d better not forget it.”

Sylvain grins, wide and honest. “Like you’d let me.”

  
  


The third time it happens, he doesn’t have any time to think on it.

They’ve been fighting in the monastery town for so long he’s not even sure they’re still the same day. Edelgard’s forces seem endless, wave after of wave of wide eyes and snarls behind visors. Byleth has split them in smaller groups to bottleneck the streets, to contain the surge. 

Felix is with Ashe and his battalion. He’s lost track of where the others are, but as they pass an alley, he spots Sylvain fighting some distance down a parallel street. He’s badly outnumbered. Felix sees as he gets dragged off his horse, swords rising and falling as he disappears in the throng of soldiers. By him, there is the twisted body of a dead wyvern.

Felix feels dizzy, then hot, and his hand tightens painfully around his sword, yet his attention is immediately diverted to a contingent turning the corner towards them. A magical contingent. Felix is almost glad. The only way for them to win against such a formation is to rush them, to leave them no time and no space to throw their spells. Felix throws himself at them with a raw cry he doesn’t feel tearing his throat, shafts flying by his ears as Ashe and his battalion let loose.

After that, it is wave after wave that moves them through the streets and Felix never again comes close to where Sylvain fell. He’s numb and refuses all orders to let up; he promised, after all. 

When it looks like they are winning, when Edelgard finally comes into view and Felix determines to hack a path to her for Byleth, Sylvain appears at his side, horse lathered, and lends his axe to his sword. His mind jars for a second -- he had seen him die. Had he? Why was he so sure he had, why had he been fighting to reach Edelgard and die?-- but then the sheer relief of seeing him alive, coupled with the knowledge that if he steps out of his detachment for even a second he will collapse, pushes all doubts out of his mind as he fights.

When it finally all ends, when they have escaped the carnage and lost Byleth and Rhea and so, so many others, the remnants of the Blue Lions are scattered, fled. Sylvain and Felix are together with Annette and Ingrid. They don’t know where the others are and can’t afford to look.

Their fire is a small, pitiful affair. They can’t risk much more for fear of discovery. The warhorse and pegasus are standing still by them, heads down, utterly spent. The pegasus’ wings drag on the ground.

They look in the flames in silence. Injuries have been hastily bandaged. They have no field rations. Tomorrow, they will hunt. Today, anything they eat would taste like ash.

“What do we do now?” Ingrid asks, her voice small.

Nobody speaks until Annette somehow manages to scrounge up a hint of humanity.

“Sleep. We can figure this out tomorrow.”

They lie down, all closer than they ever have, craving contact, confirmation that they are alive. Sylvain is near wrapped around him and Felix is happy he is. He doesn't care if the girls see. At that moment he can't make himself care much about anything beyond listening to make sure Sylvain is still breathing.

Felix doesn’t sleep, not for a long time. He can’t remember much of the battle, he realises. Big chunks of it are lost in a haze. He supposes it’s a mercy. He dreams of swarms of eyeless, featureless soldiers dragging down Sylvain to be swallowed by darkness, but nightmares are a sign he’s maintained some sanity and he’s almost glad for them.

  
  
  


The fourth time it happens, it makes him sick.

He's lying in the infirmary, his head about to give birth to his brain through his ears, his body simultaneously frozen and soaked in sweat at the same time. It feels like his heart will burst. Manuela is frantic. Nothing she’s done, none of her magic, none of her extensive knowledge has done a lick of good. 

She's left for the library to consult with Mercedes, find something to help. Byleth is here, watching over him. She chased away Sylvain, too. It almost came to blows.

“Felix,” she starts. Her voice is as calm as always, but now it has feeling where before the calmness was emptiness. “I’m sorry.”

Even now he can appreciate how uncommon that is for her. He cracks his eyes open. He can barely see her. They've snuffed all the candles, shuttered all the windows, in deference to his pain. What little he sees of her looks on him with what might be guilt.

“Why the hell for?” he croaks. His voice is hoarse. He was screaming earlier.

All he had been able to see and feel had been Sylvain plummeting in the river of lava in the Ailell valley. He had been screaming to drown out Sylvain’s own agonized wails and the smell of searing flesh. Sylvain had been right there in the infirmary with him, holding on to him, repeating again and again that he was right there, that he was  _ fine,  _ but Felix hadn't been able to stop.

His mind knew Sylvain was alive. But it also knew he had died, and the pain Felix felt at that, immeasurable, refused to accept he hadn't died. During the less conscious moments of his raving, he had recalled. Recalled thoughts he had dismissed as nightmares or fabrications but which he now knew with unwavering certainty were real memories. Sylvain had died four times now and Felix couldn't cope.

Manuela thought he was delirious. Hallucinating. Yet his certainty in what he felt was about the only thing keeping him from doing something drastic. 

“This is my doing.” She places a hand on his arm. It’s searing against his cold flesh. 

She tells him the most fantastical story about the Goddess and time control. Felix can only listen on in disbelief tinted with -- what, hope? He just looks at her, at the moon shadows playing on her face. He's not overly religious, but listening to her words, he thinks he can see the goddess in her.

“You love Sylvain too strongly,” she says gently. He doesn't even bristle at it. The time when it was something of a secret is long gone. “Your heart refused to let go of its grief for him despite turning back the time.” Byleth hums. “It's extraordinary. The pain should be erased like all the rest because it no longer even happened.” She taps her fingers once, twice on his arm. “I suspect that your growing talent in magic also has something to do with this.”

Felix finds the energy to laugh, a low, broken hack. “So I’m  _ lovesick _ ?”

Byleth smiles, small but genuine, like it surprised her before she thought to keep it in check. “Sylvain has rubbed off on you.”

“You have no idea.”

Byleth’s eyebrows shoot up, but his head is splitting and he really can't give a crap what he's saying. He can be mortified later.

She talks him to sleep, her hand on his arm anchoring him. She’s likely using magic. He doesn't know when, but he drifts off, and there are no nightmares this time. He still hurts. He's still not sure he'll survive this. But things finally, achingly start making sense and his heart stops wanting to wail out of his chest.

When he wakes again he's no longer in pain. He feels empty, like a husk of himself carved clean, but also incredibly light for it. Sylvain is with him. His face is haggard, his eyes bloodshot, but he summons a smile as soon as Felix looks at him.

“Good afternoon!” he says cheerfully. “How are you feeling? Should I go get Manuela?”

Felix huffs. “I’m fine. Slow down.”

Sylvain’s features are the same as always, but it's like Felix is seeing them in a new light. In the light of  _ could-be  _ and  _ might-have-been _ . The memories are there and a terrifying cautionary tale, but he knows what they are now and can live with them. 

“What day is it?” The last he remembers is speaking with Byleth. He has the sense that's been a while.

“You’ve been out for four days,” Sylvain answers. He tightens his hand and that's when Felix realizes he is holding his. “Manuela said you were essentially sleeping and that it seemed to be doing you good, so she kept you dosed for a bit.”

He can feel the weakness of his sickness in his limbs. He can't wait to train it out. For now, he sits up. It's an embarrassing struggle.

Sylvain helps him, then produces a glass of water that has Felix realizing how parched he is. He downs it gratefully.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Sylvain insists. His tone drops a little. “You really scared me.”

Sylvain scared  _ him  _ with all of his dying, but that’s not something Felix can go out and say. Byleth had warned him severely about speaking of what she could do. 

Felix had died, too, and that was too weird to contemplate.

Instead, Felix looks at Sylvain, at the smart, carefree man he loves but who is too hurt and distrustful to truly believe anyone could actually love  _ him.  _ At how he is wilted by worry and looks like he hasn't slept since Felix was brought here.

Felix disengages his hand only to reach up and bring Sylvain’s head down until their foreheads brush together. 

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“So long as you’re OK.”

Felix lets himself fall back against the pillows, already exhausted and exasperated for it. He closes his eyes for a second and a memory bubbles up, unbidden. He reddens and groans.

“What's wrong?” Sylvain exclaims, launching to his feet, ready to run for help.

Felix waves him back down. “I may have joked about our sex life with the Professor,” he admits, scowling.

Sylvain blinks owlishly, staring at Felix, before roaring with laughter. At first Felix deepens his scowl, snapping at Sylvain that it is  _ not  _ funny, but then Sylvain extracts the anecdote from him and he ends up laughing too, until they're both out of breath and the world looks normal again.

  
  


The fifth time it happens, Felix decides it wouldn't hurt to start praying.

He's in his arms, blood flowing much too fast from his sliced stomach. Felix keeps saying Sylvain’s name and telling him everything’s going to be alright even as he looks around the streets, desperate to find the professor. Where was she, she could reverse this.

Sylvain raises one hand to place on Felix’s cheek, draw his attention back to him. He inhales, tries to speak but can't. He smiles instead, and that is the last thing Sylvain ever does.

Felix is all barely-contained panic as he desperately looks for Byleth. The fighting is moving away from them slowly, she has to have realized,  _ please. _

This time he can feel the shift, somewhat. It’s like the worst case of  _ déjà vu _ combined with a pressure in his head like the onset of a bad headache. 

He blinks. He’s standing in the street with Sylvain. Rather than have them move forward, Byleth has them turning into a side street. The troop of mortal savants that would have ambushed them instead passes them by and Felix and Sylvain are able to fall on them from behind.

Once they are done, covered in blood and high on adrenaline, Sylvain catches Felix staring at him in wonderment. It had happened again. It was all true. The shift in reality is not comfortable, he knows he will feel this later. But she spoke the truth. 

How could they be so lucky?  _ Why? _

“Come on, man. There’s plenty more before we reach Edelgard!”

Felix wipes the expression from his face. The amazement is still there. And gratitude. Felix is so grateful he might drown in it. “Don’t slow me down,” he drawls instead. 

Sylvain laughs as he nudges his charger forward. He could lose Felix in an instant, but he doesn’t. 

Felix had never been overly religious, believing more through habit than real conviction. In the face of Sylvain’s miraculous --- survivals?--, he now feels it genuinely. He doesn’t just believe. He  _ knows.  _

He sends a silent thank you to the Goddess for choosing their Professor. And, seeing how apparently they’re one now, he also thanks the Professor for choosing their class.

  
  
  


The sixth time it happens it actually doesn’t, and this time it’s thanks to Felix.

Sylvain would have been splendid in his Margrave finery if they weren't quite so dirtied. A large part of it is due to their traipsing in the woods looking for thieves, the other part is because of Felix. He enjoys Sylvain in his noble clothes, however he enjoys him more when said finery is quite dishevelled. 

The northern parts of the Kingdom have benefited greatly from Dimitri’s ascension to power. The rich Gautier lands lured in thieves by the droves, but there was no lack of soldiers to keep it all in check.

When Felix visited, however, Sylvain would always magic up some new band that had to be dealt with and for some reason or other there never were available troops so Sylvain just had to go deal with it himself. With Felix. 

This was an obvious lie to the entire Gautier territory but Sylvain was ridiculously well liked by his people and they would just smile and thank him for his dedication. 

Sylvain said Felix had been just as adopted by the Gautier household, if he would just let them show it.

The briefest flash of steel catches Felix’s eye. In a strange echo of years ago, a  _ memory _ branded in Felix’s mind, an arrow shoots from behind a tree. It would have reached Sylvain, who is only lightly armored. Instead Felix's sword halves it mid flight. Thoron streaks at the arrow’s origin and there is a startled cry. The tree falls.

Sylvain inches forward, axe out. When he reaches the spot his magic hit he simply raises an eyebrow at whatever remains. It wouldn’t be much.

“Thoron might have been a bit overkill.”

Felix shakes his head. “And Thunder in woods would have been better? Chances are I would have hit the trees and nothing else. How have you ever managed to progress in magic?”

And he was better at it than him, but that was not information Felix typically volunteered. 

Sylvain smiles at the jibe. “Someday, you’re really going to have to get over not being to learn Ragnarok.”

Felix rolls his eyes and resumes their march forward. “And you’re completely useless when you’re off your horse. Without us watching your back you’d be long dead.”

Sylvain groans. “Most people call that teamwork.”

The Professor was a bit more than mere teamwork _ .  _ She kept them whole. Somehow, she got them all through the war. But she is no longer with them. She can't turn the hands of time on Sylvain’s deaths (or Felix’s, he presumes) anymore. It's up to him to make sure it never happens again.

“The whole class isn’t there to cover for your recklessness anymore,” he answers instead. “You’d do well to be more careful.”

Sylvain returns his axe to his belt hoop and just gives Felix that  _ look  _ that knows he's being this way on purpose. 

“Oh yeah? How often did Ashe save your skinny arse? Or Annette? You always get so focused on the enemy before, you forget you can get flanked.”

Well, that backfired neatly. Felix roughs his hair, exasperated.

“Just be careful. You go out in hunts like this and you have no one to watch your back.” It's only him. And  _ he _ can't turn back the hands of time. If he fails, it's all over.

It keeps him up at night sometimes.

“I’ve got you.”

The way Sylvain says it, there is evidently no doubt in his mind that Felix  _ is  _ enough. A grown-ass man, and he still feels butterflies like when he was an awkward teenager. Felix stops walking and looks at Sylvain. His partner in ways the word could not begin to convey. 

“Always, remember?” he replies. Inwardly, he concedes defeat. He’ll just have to take up where Byleth can't anymore. He's not as… efficient, but he'll do all he can.

Sylvain walks the few steps separating them, leans towards Felix. His attention is divided with the surroundings; if there was one bandit, there could be more. The intensity in his eyes is still enough. More, and Felix would not be letting them get home any time soon. 

Sylvain knows that.

“Always.”


End file.
